


wolf in sheep's clothing

by misszuipperips



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Kidnapping, Implied/Referenced Torture, Murder, Pre-Recall, Widowmaker Backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 02:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8126404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misszuipperips/pseuds/misszuipperips
Summary: She was not the same Amélie that they expected her to be. She'd been changed by Talon. She didn't feel the same affection towards Gérard.





	

There was only the light from the moonlight that splays in from the window to cut across their bed that allowed her to see the details of the ceiling she was staring at. Her hair was a mess, and she knew that normally Amélie would have done something about it before she’d gone to bed. She didn’t make any movement to leave the bed to do what she should. Amélie was a distant past; a hazy idea of the routines that she should be following that encouraged her desperate husband to believe that she was unscathed.

Her hands were resting against her stomach, fingers entwined. She hadn’t been able to sleep much since she got back. She hid it from Gérard (dear, sweet, loving Gérard; he was always hovering nowadays as he tried to ease the path to normality for his apparently tender wife) because she didn’t want to be sent back to the medical wing.

If he’d noticed that she never instigated romantic moments or touched him casually, he didn’t mention it. He probably thought it was best to give her space.

She let out a deep breath, feeling her heart slow. How would they react if she just stopped breathing in the night and let her _tender_ heart give out? Would they cry for her or would they cry for the memory of a woman that she was no longer?

She turned to look at the sleeping form of her husband. She knew in a detached and factual manner that she loved him, but there was a disconnect between this knowledge and the way she tried to feel about him now. She didn’t really feel that much nowadays, but she played her role as the damaged but still unchanged Amélie that all of Overwatch seemingly adored.

She pushed herself up to sit on the bed, running one hand through her messy hair in an attempt to try and retain her fragmented sense of normality. These early morning hours never truly felt like part of the rest of reality. Like there was a small period of time where nothing was quite real and you were left in a small realm of detached tiredness where there was only silence and your thoughts to keep you company. She revelled in this dreamlike state—these were her blessed hours where she didn’t have to pretend to be the same Amélie that existed before Talon took her because she was married to Gérard. Before she became someone else entirely.

She looked over at her husband again. It felt strange to call him her husband when she no longer keenly felt the bonds of love and affection that she must have had before she’d been changed. Now he was just a familiar stranger; another expectation that she had to meet to be considered the normal Amélie. Change wasn’t permitted here—she knew that if she dropped her veil of normality that they would resume their questioning as to what had happened and that she would likely never be free of Overwatch’s clutches. So she lied through her teeth and acted like a doting wife.

She dropped her hand and let it rest against Gérard’s arm. She felt no surge of kindness; no sudden desire to lay kisses upon him and cry out with love for him. She felt, in the vaguest sense, an understanding that this lack of attraction was wrong. That this was a defining feature of how she’d changed since Talon had dropped her at Overwatch’s doorstep.

She studied Gérard’s sleeping body once more, idly taking in the way he trusted her enough to let himself be vulnerable like this around her. She’d just been kidnapped by Talon and she knew that he had recognised that she was different, but he never let it show in his actions. She wasn’t his Amélie but he still trusted her to let himself sleep next to her.

She slipped off the side of the bed and padded gently over to the drawer where she knew that they’d left her the key to her task. The room was familiar in that she knew she’d spent years of her life here, but strangely new in that nothing was ever quite the same here since she’d come back. She looked back over her shoulder at the bed almost regretfully, but the slow thump of her heart reminded her why she was awake. She pulled open one of the drawers and pushed aside the clothes that she knew was hers before the incident with Talon, grabbing the gift that they’d left for her.

She walked slowly back to the bed, sliding back into her place and smoothing the creased blankets. Gérard had not even stirred at this, but she’d made sure she was as quiet as possible. Her heart beat so slow that not even that would be enough to wake him. She took a deep breath and firmed herself, shifting now to crouch over her husband’s sleeping body. She wondered if he would wake, but the noise of her moving to perch over him clearly wasn’t loud enough to alarm him.

(Perhaps he’d gotten used to the cries she’d apparently made when sleep had overtaken her upon her return to Overwatch.)

She took one last look at his face, taking in the way the stress lines on his face eased when he slept. She’d been worrying him. She closed her eyes and held out the dagger that Talon had so kindly provided her with. Would the old Amélie be willing to hurt a loved one to prove herself? How ambitious had she been before this?

Was she trying to prove a point to them or to herself? How different was she from the Amélie she used to be?

She pushed away these questions and forced her unsteady hands to dig the edge of the dagger into her doting husband’s throat. Her shoulders shook as she dug the blade in deeper, and Gérard’s eyes flung open as he began to gurgle on his own blood.

Was he trying to choke out a simple _why_ to her? She felt a tear drop from her eye, but she felt no real sense of regret as she watched the man she was supposed to love bleed out on the bed they’d shared.

When he stopped twisting and gurgling beneath her, she released her grip on the dagger and brought her blood-covered hands up to the moonlight. Would this stain her hands forever? Was she still Amélie if she’d willingly killed Gérard? She stared at the vivid red of his blood on her pale hands, sitting on his body long enough that the blood began to dry and flake.

Her heart beat even slower. Her lips turned purple, but she felt no pain. She sat on top of Gérard’s lifeless body and watched as the last few trickles of blood from his throat snaked down his neck and joined the growing stain on the bed. The sheets used to be white. She wondered what colour the blood would make the bed once it had stained it properly.

When she looked at her hands under the wavering moonlight, she noted idly that her skin seemed to hold an almost blue tint to it. She tilted her head back and wiped the dried blood from her hands on her already stained pyjamas. Now there was not even the sound of Gérard’s breathing to place her in reality; she was back in the dreamlike trance that belonged purely to these early hours.

She eventually moved off of Gérard’s body and pushed herself off of the bed. She didn’t bother to change her outfit to anything else, but instead made a surprisingly graceful exit from the room via the window. Talon had wanted to test her, and she knew that she’d succeeded. Talon had made sure that there was no Amélie left in her when they’d dumped her in front of Overwatch, and the eager do-gooders had allowed the wolf in sheep’s clothing through their front door and into the arms of one of their own.

She made her way to the covert transport that they’d provided for her. She knew that if she’d failed to kill Gérard and pass their test that the transport would have called in Talon operatives to put her down. She climbed aboard and looked around at those who were waiting for her. They stared back at her. She was ahead of schedule.

“Welcome to Talon, Widowmaker,” one of them told her, a surprisingly pleasant-looking smile on their face.

She stood in front of them in bloody pyjamas and messy hair, with skin slowly turning bluer and bluer. Her heart barely beat. She felt no emotion. It was only when she’d been burying the blade in Gérard’s throat that she’d even felt the regret and determination pulse through her veins.

She said nothing to them, and simply waited for them to take her back to Talon’s base.

**Author's Note:**

> me, at 2:30am: haha wouldn't it be cool to write a take on widow killing gerard and joining talon?  
> me, now, at 4am: Regret  
> anyway. hmu if there's mistakes i am a tired egg i'll fix them later!!! also let me know if i should add something to the tags for this fic i wasn't too sure what else to add lmao  
> this was??? meant to be kind of ~*~flowery~*~ in the style that it's written. idk i just had this idea and i wanted to write it lmaoooo i should have written something for merciless probs but Here We Are  
> pls give me feedback i Crave your opinions


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